


Le Goût des Larmes

by ragnar_rock



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9861812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragnar_rock/pseuds/ragnar_rock
Summary: After Henriette's death, Philippe and Chevalier retreat to Saint Cloud, but Philippe finds that he is still haunted by Henriette's memory.





	1. Chapter 1

Philippe had expected Saint Cloud to be a haven, a place where he could escape from the sickness and the grief that filled every rotten corner of that garish palace. Where every shadow held in it Henriette's dying gaze. He had never been so wrong. He could not breathe, for the very air tasted of her. He could hear her laughter in the fountains, taste her tears in the wine. On every bed he saw himself forcing her. Guilt weighed heavily on his soul until he could not eat or sleep.  
  
Philippe sat curled up on a love seat before the fire. He was wrapped entirely in furs and he stared lifelessly at the flames. It was daylight outside – beautiful, and sunny. A day he would have usually adored, _she_ would have usually adored, but inside the curtains were drawn and he sat with only the fire for light. He had stopped crying a few weeks ago. Now he just sat, and he stared.

 Chevalier had faced the problem with his usual bravery, and hid from him in an entirely different wing of the house most days. He flitted about with a few mignons and spent Philippe's money cheerfully. Henriette's death weighed little on him, it had been no secret that they had had no love for one another. His only pity was that Philippe's moods had become so dark. Deep down, he felt a pang of guilt that he yet lived and she had died, but that was a subject that he did not dare to think about let alone mention.

 Today, with the sunshine lighting the fresh dew on the roses Chevalier muttered a few profanities to himself. It was time to actually _do_ something about his brooding lover.

 “Mourning's over, rise and shine!” Chevalier said with an irritatingly chipper tone as he pulled open the curtains himself with grand gestures.  
  
“Darling, you look disgusting. Not at all presentable. Would you go to court in such rags? I think not.”  
  
“What do you think you are doing?” Philippe growled, the most emotion that had torn at his voice in days.  
  
“Isn't it obvious love?”  
  
Chevalier tried to pull the furs from around Philippe but Philippe gripped onto them tightly – the Chevalier surrendered the furs but settled on his lap all the same.  
  
“Saving your life.”

 “From what? Boredom?”  
  
“From rotting away in darkness over a hag that did not even make a pretty corpse. Not even a dash of color, honestly a fine -”  
  
Philippe grabbed Chevalier's neck and gave it a threatening squeeze.  
  
“STOP.”

 Chevalier raised his finger in protest and gave a stiff little nod. Philippe released him and curled up a little more into the seat, trying to ignore him.  
  
“You are wasting away in here, Philippe. At least let me take you into the garden for a little sun, hm? It breaks my heart to see you in such a state.”  
  
“Any man with a heart would not say such things of my poor Henriette while she is fresh in the grave, God rest her soul.”  
  
Chevalier looked slightly offended as he tried to take Philippe's hand.  
“I do, Philippe. Or have you forgotten that I gave it to you?”  
  
Philippe's expression softened slightly and he looked away.  
  
“Even your love is selfish.”  
  
“Do you know how many times that she tried to send me away? How she dreamed of separating us?”  
  
“And you would not have? Tell me, would you not have tried to send her away were your roles reversed? Tell me that you would not have!”  
  
“Of course I would. I love you.”  
  
“As did she.”  
  
“Your _wife_ had love only for your brother.”

 Philippe pushed him off of himself and stood.  
  
“I forbid you to speak of her in such a manner!”  
  
“In what manner? The truth?! When did the two of you ever share a bed? When was a child born that was of love? The only time she took your seed was when you forced it down her throat and even then you could not be sure that it was not his!”  
  
“ENOUGH!” Philippe dragged him to his feet only to throw him again.  
  
The wind was knocked from Chevalier and he curled up in pain on the floor. Good. Let him hate him, as long as it meant that he would stop staring at that damned fire. He brushed his hair from his eyes and slowly sat up.  
  
“You know nothing of my agony! The humiliation! I adored her because I could not love her! She deserved better than me! I am a monster!” He dragged Chevalier to his feet again and struck him.  
  
Chevalier stumbled back a step, then slapped him hard in return. He offered him a smile.  
  
“Oh no. I am not playing this game with you. Not now. Not ever again!”  
  
Chevalier finally looked as if he had been slapped.  
  
“I see.” He said, his voice thick with emotion and his eyes empty, albeit glistening with tears.  
  
“If I no longer have your love, then I am no longer welcome. I shall leave for Paris at once. Good day.” He turned, as if in a daze, and started to walk away.  
“You are nothing without me!” Philippe shouted after him.  
  
Chevalier replied barely above a whisper.  
  
“How right you are.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Chevalier leaves Saint Cloud, Philippe questions his decision to send him away.

Philippe had not bothered to change from his increasingly sloppy mourning attire and his dark hair was in disarray as it framed his pale face. He wore a blanket around his shoulders as he leaned against the door and watched the chaos of Chevalier's departure unfold.

 An hour had barely passed since their argument and the Chevalier had already selected several of his favored mignons set to accompany him to Paris, and now he was packing with all of his signature dramatics. A horde of harried servants streamed to and from his rooms like ants. Philippe had left his position before the fire in his wing to watch him pack – a victory, or so Chevalier chose to view it.

 “If you have come to beg me to stay, you are running short of time. I would hate to miss it, you always were so beautiful on your knees.” At this point the Chevalier was mainly talking to himself to pretend that everything was alright, and that Philippe would end this fight with a kiss as he had all of the others, but doubt twisted in his gut like a knife and spread a cold smile across his face as he packed away his dirty books.

 “No.” It would perhaps have hurt less if he had not answered at all. That was why he said it of course. They knew each other so well. They knew exactly how to bring one another to the point of pure ecstacy just as well as the knew how to twist a blade in each others hearts with a single look - or syllable, in this case.

 Philippe had felt that same sense of perverse righteousness as he spoke his answer as when he had forced Henriette's face into her pillow. That self destructive joy that collapsed within an instant and left nothing but a vacuum of guilt and self loathing in its place. It ate away at him as he watched the Chevalier move. His beautiful silhouette seemed small, insignificant, even afraid as he watched him. He wanted to take him into his arms. To comfort him. To protect him from whoever had done this to him, but he was himself to blame. How could he ever love him now? He deserved this, just as he had deserved to lose his poor Henriette.

 Philippe sighed audibly and Chevalier turned at last just in time to catch the sight of him turning to leave. So this was it. Their last goodbye. He had lost his favor. His love. He whimpered and dropped to his knees. One of his stupid, naive mignons offered him his hand and he hit it away as he collapsed into sobs.  
  
Chevalier could barely remember what had happened from the moment he had hit the floor to his strange present, that found him sitting in a carriage that was rattling away from Saint Cloud and leaving Philippe behind. He knew that it was true that he had left his heart in Philippe, because it ached for every inch that stretched between them. He put his hand on the carriage window and again he wept.  
“Goodbye, my Mignonette.”

 Philippe tried to remain where he was, nestled in his chair with his fire as he had been. He tried to ignore that the Chevalier had ever pranced into his life with that stupid wicked grin of his. Tried to pretend that he didn't love him with all that he was and would ever be. Tried to pretend that he wasn't willing him with every beat of his heart to turn around. Suddenly he found himself running down the halls of Saint Cloud. He threw off the blankets and ran straight out the door in only his shirt and breeches. The carriage was nearly out of sight. He couldn't do this, he couldn't beg him back now. It was too late. Or so he kept telling himself even as he mounted his horse and spurred him in the direction of the carriage.

 Chevalier had, at this point surrendered into unflattering sobs in the privacy of his carriage. He would never been seen like this. So much genuine emotion in public, good God he would be the laughing stock of the court. Who was he kidding himself? He had personally insulted nearly everyone at court. Without Philippe there was no place for him. He would have to start over somehow. The loneliness of his situation threatened to smother him. That was certainly the last time he ever tried to help anyone. Especially ungrateful Princes with beautiful hair who insisted on mourning their dead wives. He rubbed his eyes with a flourish of determination only to sob again.

 Chevalier tugged at his silk handkerdhief as he attempted to steel himself for a very long and very emotional carriage ride when he was torn very abruptly from his thoughts by the door of the carriage flinging open.

  
“Jesus Christ!” He stumbled back toward the other side of the carriage and fumbled for his sword, expecting a highway robber.”

 “Have you forgotten my face already?” Philippe said as he dropped into the carriage and closed the door after himself as if this were perfectly normal for him.  
He took the Chevalier's cane and tapped the roof.  
  
“Turn it around!” he shouted. Chevalier stared at him.  


“On your knees would have been more convenient.”  
  
“But far too overdone.” Philippe turned to meet his eyes at last and the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Philippe,” He whispered their shared name.  
“I do not expect you to forgive me. But I would have you return to me. If you wish it.”  
  
The Chevalier's eyes brimmed with fresh tears and he pulled him into desperate kisses and covered his face with eager pecks.  
  
“Of course! Of course my beautiful stallion my Mignonette!”  
  
“You look disgusting.” Philippe scrunched up his face and pretended that he was entirely pleased at the surprisingly happy reaction.  
  
“You look ravishing.”

 “As it should be.”  
  
He pulled Chevalier into a tender kiss.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“As I love you. I love you, Philippe. You are everything to me.” The Chevalier was still staring at him as if he expected him to disappear at any moment like a sweet dream and his hopefulness broke Philippe's heart. How could he have ever sent him away?  
  
Philippe cupped his cheek and pressed his forehead to his as the carriage swayed and turned around.  
  
“You are my everything.” He agreed.

 


End file.
